She'll Eat You Alive
by Rant Girl
Summary: Was started before s6 started airing, so it doesn't follow the shows storyline, Sam is still hellbound at this point. This is a look at how and what events led Dean to becoming a vamp. Prequel to Mine.
1. She'll Eat You Alive

She drummed her nails, freshly manicured, down against the worn surface of the bar. Small town, big city, it didn't matter, where there was beer neanderthals were sure to roam. Slapping her hand down flat she drew her gaze back to the egomaniac, who had so 'graciously' decided to bestow his presence upon her. Her lip twitching, hand snapping up, she caught her pursuer's tongue between her thumb and middle finger, "Stop talking."

"Oh-hay" all he managed to get out around his tongue, her nails digging in slightly, as she caught sight of the man who had just walked through the door. Drinking in the chiselled jaw, those full lips tugged into a grin that was just this side of cocky, and those eyes, they held a sparkle, not betraying the cold that lay within, but they didn't have to, not for her. She released the pretty boy without so much as a backwards glance, swivelling round in her seat, eyes never leaving the _newcomer_. She leaned back, arms flat against the bar, already knowing he would come to her.

"Can I buy you a drink?" he leaned down into her, his body warm, voice whiskey rough, he really was too good to be true.

"How about a dance?" her voice silken, laced with desire, but she didn't give pause for an answer. Slipping down onto her feet, his proximity forced her up against him, her hands flat against his chest, and she let the left linger as she brushed past. Grasping his arm, her hand slipping into his, she guided him to what so barely passed as a dance floor. Pulling him in close behind her and wrapping his arms round her waist, so they could sway together, she rolled her hips from side to side, his moving with hers. Reaching back with one hand, she caressed his cheek, tilting his face down to hers, her head falling back against his chest, the ghost of a breath falling between their lips.

But she moved at the last second, resting her finger over his lips, that bottom lip parting slightly as she slowly drew her finger down. Stepping round him, her hand resting on his shoulder, breasts brushing against his back, she blew gently along his neck, and he quivered, the fine hair there standing on end, as she stood before him now. Their eyes met, locking in step, as if some external force made it so. She brought her hands flat against his chest once more, taking the time to feel every contour of that well defined muscle, as she brought them down, slipping round his waist, beneath his leather jacket. A smirk tugging at the corners of her lips, she leaned into him, cheek against cheek, "Outside, five minutes," tugging his earlobe gently with her teeth.

His bottom lip trembling, and she was gone. When he opened his eyes he just managed to see the slip of red through the door, his feet pulling him forward a few steps, and he stopped. He shook his head. Sure he could wait five minutes...but there had been something in her voice, like a promise, that drew him on, he just wasn't sure what.

And there she stood at the mouth of the alley, that red dress clinging to her every curve. He hadn't even really been fully aware of leaving the building. Her back was to him, chin resting on her right shoulder, and she turned moving towards the shadows. He followed. "So I'd ask myself..." starting off serious but slipping into a more playful tone, "what's a lady like yourself doing down a dark alley, all on her own?"

She chuckled low, and almost sickly sweet, but somehow still sultry, like the word was invented just for her. She spun round, slow,_graceful_her head cocked to the side, eyes appraising, "Maybe she's lonely," her voice just as inviting as her laugh, and again he found himself moving closer without any conscious decision to do so.

"You got a name?"

"Darla."

_Darla._He liked it. Suited her.

"Well Darla, I guess I'll just have to..." reaching back, his eyes widening a little.

"Looking for this?" she pulled out the blade that had been tucked in the back of his jeans, holding it up to the light, "A little rude don't you think?"

"S'nothing personal sweetheart. Just doing my job."

"And not too well it would seem."

"This the part where you tell me I'm insignificant?"

She chuckled again, "Oh honey, there isn't an insignificant bone in that body," running her thumb along the edge of the blade, she let her eyes wander over every inch of him, before returning to his face, "Wouldn't complain about the packaging either."

Dean fidgeted slightly, pulling at his jacket a little and ending with his arms folded across his chest, "Well thanks, now I feel completely naked."

"You don't just have to feel it."

"Can't we get this over with?"

"What's the rush?"

"Well Dr. Sexy is just about to find out if his girlfriend's gonna wake up, and I always like a slice of pie after killing a vamp, if we wrap this up quickly I just might make it to the little place on the corner of Lexington before it closes. They have great pie."

"What makes you so sure you'd win?" she pinned him to the wall, the blade flat against his jugular, a nervous huff of air leaving him as he gulped, it was definitely too close.

"Well it beats the alternative."

"I wouldn't know about that," she tossed the blade aside, letting her fingers rest against his cheek, turning his face away from her, she let them ghost over his pulse point, "It can be quite exhilarating."

Dean huffs, and turns back to look into her eyes, "Yeah? Gonna give me your sales pitch?"

She smirked, "I don't have to," taking half a step back, "You sought me remember."

"What?"

"Don't think I didn't feel you, you've been dancing round this for days-"

"No-"

"Walking around with that big black gaping hole inside of you. You don't even feel them screaming anymore do you? Just a dull ache where your stomach used to be," brushing her fingers back through his hair and round to his cheek.

"But how do you-"

"And you just want it to stop," placing her hand over his heart, "Can't stand the thump, thump in that hollow tin shell," never taking her eyes from his, "I can make it stop."

"How?"

"You know how," bringing her finger up to his lips as he went to speak again, "Shh," she whispered gently against his lips, "Close your eyes," her hand hovering before those emerald depths, moving down as he let them close. His heart skipped a beat, the back of her hand grazing the tip of his nose, the other resting at the nape of his neck, the softest of sounds stuttering from his lips as pointed incisors tore flesh, sinking down, and the suction...he'd never felt anything like it, head falling back, arms wrapping round her tiny waist to keep him steady, his head swimming, there was no other sound in the world.

Dean opened his eyes, his knees giving out beneath him, but she kept him from falling any further, his eyes drawn to that face. God she was beautiful, _like an angel_. He was suddenly filled with a need for laughter but he couldn't find any, tears wetting his cheeks. Wobbling a bit, he watched as she raised her hand, her nail digging into her skin, leaving a line of red just above her breasts, and he leaned in, falling into her, mouth open, letting the sticky substance bathe his tongue, and he drank, not really sure he wanted to let go.

* * *

><p><em>AN I know that there are parallels that can be drawn but that's what I was going for, and well she has a method, and she doesn't just go around siring people all willy nilly, there has to be something special, and Dean's definitely got it_


	2. Man's Got His Reasons

Author's Notes:

_this chapter is of course a flashback, taking us to the very beginning of this tale, and to a couple of months after Sam jumped into the hole, this does not follow the show's timeline. _

He grunts, head rolling to the side, eyes still scrunched shut. His consciousness still lies somewhere in between reality and dreams, only his dreams are nothing short of a nightmare. The stench of sulphur and copper jarring his senses, caught on the back of his tongue, and he'd rip it out himself if only he'd stop convulsing.

_"Dean."_

His name. The owner of the voice strong and true, with a twang of familiarity, making his heart stutter in his chest. The person said his name again, softer this time, but as clear as a bell, it felt nearer too. _Sam?_ He heard that too, though this he was sure hadn't left his head, and now there was a weight to this other being, pressing in on his shoulder as he was shaken, and he jolted forward with a desperate gasp, eyes wild, trying to piece together where he was before it all came crashing back, and there she was. _Lisa._

He flinched as she reached out to him, her thumb grazing his cheek. It was then he realised they were wet, and he swiped at the tears with a haste, clearing his throat.

_"You were dreaming again."_

She says it smally, non-accusatory, her hand falling to his, and he knows had he the courage to look that he would see concern etched across her beautiful face, but it still burns, and he pulls his hand back, letting it rest on his thigh. When he finally raises his eyes to hers, his lips, pulled tight, are cracked, and he lets his tongue flick out over them, opening his mouth to speak, but he had nothing to say, and without any coffee in his system he doesn't quite have the patience to hear anything that she has, so he pushes up from the bed heading to the en suite.

Feeling more than seeing her at the door, knuckles growing white as he gripped onto the bowl of the sink, he closed his eyes, taking a much needed breath. Forcing his eyes back open he took up his toothbrush, some of the tension leaving his shoulders as she left him to it, but not before she gave a resigned sigh. And he couldn't blame her for it, he didn't deserve her kindness. He didn't deserve her bed. He didn't deserve her. This wasn't what she had signed on for. He knew that she had known that there would be a 'grieving period' but that wasn't what this was. This was a way of life.

And one he wasn't so willing to just let go. For as long as he hurt he felt Sam. And in the moments, however fleeting, like when he had watched Lisa load up the dishwasher or when Lisa had taken him to one of Ben's baseball games or the time that Ben had decided to tell Dean about his first crush, rather than telling his mother, and had asked advice about kissing. Those were the times it hurt even more. When he remembered. Knowing that somehow he'd dared to forget.

He rinsed out his mouth, dragging his hand down his stubbled jaw. The toilet seat making a hollow clunk as it hit the lid against the tank.

o_O ~One Month Later ~O_o

His lip curled as the light shone on his face. Pulling his arm up and over his eyes, he tried to twist round, the honking of a horn from a passing truck making him leap out of his skin, and he sat up too quickly, his head smacking against the steering wheel. "Son of a-" he rubbed at his forehead, smacking it with his palm before moving to sit up properly, carefully. He grunts, his throat feels thick, like he may never swallow again, and dry like sandpaper, or like the rough end of a weathered park bench. He reaches back over the seat to try and find some water, but comes up with empties. He rolls his shoulders, his cheek resting against his left, and he stretches his neck 'til he hears a good crack, repeating the action for the other side. Pulling his hand down his face before slumping back into the seat, he tilted his head back over the top, eyes screwed shut.

Dean let out a low groan, he hadn't managed to find a motel the night before, forcing himself up into an upright position, he wrestled the keys from his pocket. He'd been on the road for almost two weeks, though he hadn't strayed too far. Hadn't even made it across the state line. He'd just had to get out of that house. Didn't want to disappoint the kid. But he knew he already had. His laugh was sharp, bitter and short lived, not even a full bark, just enough to remind him he needed a drink. He crammed the key into the ignition, putting his foot down a little too hard, his baby jerking forward, and he hit the brakes, cursing up a storm under his breath, and he smacked his hands down hard against the wheel.

Shaking his head on a breath, he pushed his hand back through his hair, and he started again, pulling out of the clearing, with no destination in mind, he drove. There was only forwards. And that was the problem.

o_O~Two Days Later~O_o

When Dean got to the front of the bar, he had to do a double take. _Saloon doors?_ Actual real honest to god saloon doors, "Dude," he said with an incredulity to no one in particular, and that was mostly because there was no one for him to say it to, and partly, well he wasn't exactly aware of saying it out loud. He pushed his way through, walking straight to the bar and he was met by a wall of plaid, and he faltered. Managing to stay upright, and he drew his gaze up _All the way up_, "Dude you're huge," had to be at least seven feet, luck the only thing that saved him from saying 'fugly', which had he been in a more sober mind he might have appreciated, as it was the guy looked far from pleased at his presence.

"I think you should leave."

Dean threw his head back with a chuckle which ended on a dry note, "Yeah? Well you wanna know what I think buddy, I think you shouldn't be so hasty when it comes to those cream filled donuts," and he poked him. He should not have poked him. So much for luck.


	3. Happy Trails

Dean braced himself for the blow, eyes screwed shut, lifting the lid of his left eye a little when it didn't come. And his eyes flew open when he realised the guy was gone, strike that, he was gone. He was standing in front of his motel room door, and he swung around, throwing his hands out, his baby keeping him from tipping over. A momentary sense of relief settling over him knowing his car was ok and he closed his eyes. That's when he heard them, and he spun back around, a little more sure of his footing this time, "What the hell man?"

"He was going to level you," came that deep rumble of monotony, accompanied by that 'come-fuck-me' stare that should look out of place on an angel, but at least he's not up in Dean's space, and Dean grunts, only just falling short of amusement, at Castiel's choice of words, sure that the angel would have phrased that somewhat differently before he'd met Dean, and Dean shook his head in the slightest of movements.

"So what if he did?"

"Dean-" said with the intensity of a lover, and Dean can't help but chuckle at that, no matter how hollow, though he knows that it is simply because the angel doesn't know any level other than intense.

"Forget it. Just-...just go, okay?" he's at his wits end, pleading in his voice, he doesn't need another reminder.

"You need help," and Castiel actually takes a step forwards, hand outstretched, but Dean fumbles back, away from him, resting against the hood of the Impala.

"I don't need you," the flatness of his tone meant to sting, harsher than any venom, and he doesn't quite meet Cas' eyes, heart clenching at the flutter of wings, telling him the angel is gone. And if an hour passes, before he finally pushes away from the only solid presence left in his life, he doesn't notice.

o_O~Sixteen Days Ago~O_o

Dean leaned back, one foot flat against the door frame, watching the kid dismantle a walkman, he'd taught him that. Taught him how to fire a gun to, with some rusted cans and a fence, Lisa hadn't been overjoyed with that one, and she hadn't let him leave the house with Ben without her after that. He closed his eyes as he turned his head, opening them only to see his duffle sitting at the front door before settling his gaze back on the kid. He knew what he had to do, he couldn't let this fall on Lisa, and if nothing else, he owed them this much.

He took a breath, pushing his hand back through his hair as he approached, slapping his hands down on the counter as he stood in front of him, "Hey there buddy."

"Hey," the word leaving him more on reflex than acknowledgement, but his mouth split into a grin as he looked up at Dean who just managed to return the gesture, and none too convincingly, but the kid never commented, "Today's gonna be sweet, we only have to make 4 runs to knock 'em out of the league... "

And Dean swallowed the lump in his throat, dragging his hand back and forth over his mouth.

"About that-"

"You're still coming to the game right?"

"I've been talking with your mom, and I think it's best if I don't live here anymore-"

"NO!" he didn't shout it, but Dean still flinched, Ben marching halfway to the living room area where Lisa was folding laundry, pausing mid-fold, "You can't make him go-"

"Ben-" Dean tried to interject.

"... he didn't do anything. Why can't he just stay with us?"

"Ben..." those three letters paining him more than his heart could abide, his throat raw, this was why he couldn't leave it to Lisa, couldn't let the blame fall to her, "Your mom had nothing to do with this. It was my decision. I can't..."

"Why?" and there it was, and he shook his head, eyes dropping to the ground, making him feel every bit the coward he was sure he was, he couldn't look at the kid, because when he did he wasn't so sure there was a reason.

"It's not fair to you and your mom," the look on Ben's face telling him exactly what he thought of that statement, hell he thought it too, "I can still come visit."

"I don't want you to visit. I want you to stay here. Please. Don't you like us anymore?"

"Of course I do. This has nothing to do with you. I just...I can't, Ben I'm sorry man, I really am-"

"No! I don't care if you're sorry and I don't care about you!"

"Ben!" Lisa scolded, horrified, she took a step closer, Ben sidestepping her, and stepping right up into Dean's personal space, forcing him to look at him.

"I hate you," Ben practically spat, brushing past him as he headed for the stairs, both Dean and Lisa flinching as they heard his bedroom door slam.

"Dean-"and he heard the sorry, her voice heavy with it but he shook his head.

"Go to him."

She nodded, pulling her gaze from the stairs, back to him, and she threw her arms around him for what would be the last time, "You're always welcome here Dean," she whispered, her lips soft against his cheek as she kissed him goodbye.

o_O~Three Months Later~O_o

Lock Haven, Pennsylvania

Drip. The sound of it dull, like the sound of a finger flicking against skin. Candied red droplets trickling down to form a puddle on a rusted sheet of corrugated steel. Empty eyes frozen open, unseeing, stared out across the warehouse, body strung up by the left leg, ankle swollen from the break. The right leg dangled hopelessly to the side, fingers, curved, resting against the metal beneath. Dean considered it a small mercy that she could no longer see the rest of the grotesque display. Bodies- make that body parts, were strewn across the floor, some intact, some, not so much. It made him dry heave, and he was thankful that there was nothing left in his stomach to come back up.

He'd been following this trail of bodies for just over a week. Or that was what he kept trying to convince himself, only he couldn't shake the feeling that it was the other way around, at first he'd brushed it off as a coincidence, but by the third night in another city, with two fresh victims, he knew that they were meant for him. Reaching out to him, forcing him to watch the wreck, taunting him with a promise, and he was torn between death and not wanting to see. Closing his eyes he steeled his jaw, muscle flexing and he ground his teeth together, taking a deep breath. And he pulled the lever, chains rattling as the body crashed down.

o_O~Four Days Later~O_o

Crown Heights, New York

Dean grunts as he's forced down, knees buckling beneath him, and he jerked his head away from the hand that had been kneading the scruff of his neck as he had been frogmarched into the abandoned building. Rubbing at the pain without even thinking about it, before his hand was slapped away. He took in the room, it wasn't much, a couple of threadbare couches that had seen better days, a coffee table, with an over abundance of crap near filling every available surface, and on a raised platform there was what could really only be described as a thrown, though one of the arm rests had been snapped off.

"Lookie what we found boss, he's one of them, whaddya call 'em's..." and Dean rolled his eyes, great, he was going to die at the hands of vampires who'd seen _The Godfather_ one too many times. There were eight of them, all looking at him like he was the god damned prize fucking turkey.

"A hunter?" the one that Dean could only assume was 'the boss' supplied most contemptuously.

"Yeah, a hunter," smiling at his boss.

"Had this on him," another, to Dean's left, female, piped up, handing his .45 over to her leader, who holds it up for them all to see, a chuckle rumbling in his throat, setting the rest off like a bunch of hyenas.

"Bullets can't kill us," the chick says with a smirk.

And Dean shrugged, "Maybe not, but they can hurt like hell."

Dean clenched his teeth together, near growling, biting back a scream, as the 'leader' decided to demonstrate his point, by putting a bullet clean through his left shoulder, and Dean threw his head back, "Son of bitch," head snapping to the side as the barrel was brought down against his cheek.

"That's my mother you're talking about."

Dean licked his lips, spitting the blood, before turning his head slowly, eyes locking with the _fearless leader_, wondering how long the bastard would draw this out, not sure he could take the self-flagellatory monologuing he was sure would come, "Oh, I'm sorry, how could I forget my manners? Bet you were real polite when you were eating her out... ooh I mean sucking her dry," that earns him a boot to the gut, and he hunches over, rolling onto his side, hand pressing uselessly into his shoulder.

"Get him up," the boss barks, nostrils flaring, one of the fledglings rushing forward and Dean shut his eyes to them, hopeful the vamp would just blow his brains out, _Come on, come on. Just do it._

"Hey boss, isn't he the guy the blonde wants?"

Dean's eyes shot open, rolling onto his back, his hand beneath him, the vampires barely registering his existence, all eyes now glued on the boss, who seemed intent on boring a hole through vampire flunkey moron number three.

"What blonde?" the boss clearly losing his patience.

"You know that broad, set up that gig in Penn. Said we wasn't s'posed to touch 'im."

That definitely piqued Dean's interest.

"Yeah? Well she ain't here. Now get him up," taking a startled gasp, eyes wide, staring blankly into green, his hair pulled tight, and Dean smirked, twisting the blade, the other vamps freezing as their boss lit up like some sort of Halloween version of a Christmas tree, skeleton aglow in two sharp flashes.

"Sorry buddy," and with one hard yank Dean ripped the blade out, "Change of plans."

* * *

><p>Chapter End Notes:<p>

_oh and I know we haven't really seen it in canon, but for the sake of my story, the demon knife can kill a whole number of creatures just like the colt, k? good_


	4. From The Other Side

The footsteps fell heavy on the tarmac, like the boots that made them, standard issue working boots, if she wasn't mistaken, make and model, didn't matter, though she was quite intrigued to see the man that filled them. Out of sight before he even approached, she cocked her head to the side, waiting. Watching as he towered over the whimpering girl, helping her to her feet, telling her everything would be okay, the girl rather haphazardly throwing her arms around him, and he stiffened. Darla didn't miss the wave of nausea rolling through him as he blinked. He had no need or want for her gratitude. He didn't deserve it, or at least he didn't think so. The mere thought of it repulsed him, and he pulled her arms away as gently as he could stomach before telling her to run.

He took a few tentative steps, the light, filtering through from a vent tucked up in a corner, licked at his face, brushing over high cheekbones and a strong jaw, set tight, his eyes sweeping over the room, taking in every detail. His brain never once forgetting what it was trained for, his gaze settling just inches from where she was hidden. But if he knew she was there, he didn't let on. And that was how the game began. 

o_O~Two Days Before the Penn Incident~O_o

"Where do you think you're going?" arching her brow, the other vampire froze in his tracks, and she waited as he slowly turned back round.

"Uh-...to find the boss?"

"I don't think it takes two to deliver a message," scrunching her nose in distaste as she gave him a once over, shaking her head on a sigh, "Then again your abuse of the English language really doesn't inspire much confidence, but I'm afraid you'll have to do."

"Do what?"

"You're staying right here."

"But he'll kill me."

His eyes growing wide in fear, darting to the body that lay crumpled on the ground, and back to the blonde before him, who wore a smirk, "That's the general idea." 

o_O~Ten Days Later~O_o

She paused, but barely long enough for a human to pick up on, not unless they were looking for it. A smirk played across her lips, tongue flicking out over the bottom one, biting down a little to stop the laughter which threatened to spill. She could feel his eyes on her back, just as she'd felt them back at the church. There had been a young man seeking solace, and he'd gotten a lot more than he bargained for, and so had she. It wasn't every day a hunter sat back while an innocent cried for help. But he hadn't moved so much as an inch.

Unlike now. She glanced sideways and she felt the change in the air as he ducked behind a mausoleum, though he disturbed nothing else, he knew how to move just so without making a single sound. Heartbeat steady, strong. He was in his element, and yet he'd never been so far out of water, his boundaries stretched thin. And she wondered just how far she could pull him before they would all come crumbling down. 

o_O~Two Hours Prior To Present~O_o

Staring down at her freshly manicured nails with admiration, she smirked to herself, they were most aesthetically pleasing. "Perhaps I should try some colour, maybe a red, what do you think?" She rolled her eyes as a muffled whimpering came from the girl who had done them. Clasping her hands on her lap, she tilted her head to the right, leaning forward ever so slightly; she had opted for a pedicure.

Uncrossing her legs she pushed the pad of her foot forward, allowing it to sink against the girl's chest with just enough force to send her sprawling onto her backside. Tears streaming down the girl's cheeks, her eyes rested on her former colleague whose head lay at an awkward angle, nearly clean off her shoulders. The girl shuddered. The resonance of her scream still lingering in the air, Darla closing her eyes as the wondrous event played over once more, her spine tingling.

Opening her eyes she got to her feet, graceful as always, even in her most destructive of moments, her movement precise. Feline. Sliding her hand down and into the young girl's hair, pulling her up off the floor as if she were nothing more than a rag doll, and she wrenched her head back tightly. The girl winced. Darla brushing the girl's cheek lightly with the back of her free hand.

_"Let me go…please…I won't tell…I won't tell…please…"_

Darla smiled. Sickly sweet. Letting her fingers trail down the girl's slender throat, "Shh…" Flesh pulsing beneath her touch. She always found it rather mildly amusing that no matter how pathetically dull a life a mortal led they would still beg for the life that they were so eager to throw away. "It'll all be over soon."

_"Please…"_

She chuckled, slipping behind her and pulling her close, Darla's lips brushing against her ear.

"Oh honey, _please_?" chuckling once more before whispering, "Don't embarrass yourself," her fangs sinking into the silky skin, the girl's scream piercing the air, Darla's grip tightening as her heart rate began to slow, her human visage returning as she let the woman hit the ground with an unceremonious thud. Running her tongue across her lower lip she smirked. She had a prior engagement. 

o_O~Now~O_o

She let her fingers map the delicate features of his face, so soft and yet so strong, rolling onto her side she propped herself up on her elbow, following the curve of that pouty lip, back and forth before moving her hand to his chest which had risen and fallen its last over half an hour ago, the last traces of warmth still lingering on the surface. A gasp leaving her as he grabbed her wrist.


	5. Awakening

It's funny what you remember when your life is thrown into the balance. And it's not your brother's laughter that you shared in the space between you in the front seat, the feel of the leather beneath you as your hands wrap firmly round the wheel. Breath shaky as it ebbs, leaving a smile that warms your heart for the moments it allows you to forget what you are and where it is you're heading.

And it's not that first time he actually got the drop on you. When you flipped him back over easy, pinning him to the ground, a glimmer of mischief flaring in your eyes as you realise the perfect payback. Launching into a full on tickle attack on your unsuspecting brother who's hands are pinned beneath your knees, watching him squirm helplessly as he tries to buck you off.

It's not even any of the countless nights shared with an endless number of girls, he'd lost count somewhere between turning twenty-one and the back of a pick-up truck somewhere in Ohio some odd years later.

What he remembered was the pit. His mere proximity to death leaving him open to hell's clutches, claws tearing deeply within his soul, tugging with all their might, blood curdling cries shattering every nerve, the acrid stench already burning his throat. He opened his mouth to scream and nothing came out, the edges blurring into a soft focus as the hell fires melted away, a chuckle filtering through the air like a lullaby...

His eyes flew open, hand snapping to her wrist, squeezing tight, hearing her gentle gasp, he let his head fall to the side. He was on a bed. They were on a bed, something akin to childlike glee in her eyes, making them sparkle, marvelling in his consciousness. He followed her gaze down to his hand, and he let go of her wrist, trying to escape her eyes, but knowing she wouldn't let him. He felt the bed shift beneath him as she moved, slinging her leg over his waist so that she straddled him, hands resting either side of his face, and he looked up into hers, the smile on her lips, this smile, it was different somehow, kinder. Warm.

"Shh," she whispered, "You're safe."

He felt safe. It was indescribable, all the things she inspired, his world narrowed in on the sensations she could provide, memory floating beyond the periphery. All he could feel was the now. Reaching up to cup her cheek and she dropped her head in what would be perceived as shyness in a human, but its meaning here was not lost on him. It was consent. She was giving him permission to explore, fingers tangling in those golden locks as he brought his hand to the back of her head.

In one fluid motion he had her on her back. Their positions reversed and she laughed. The sound deepening into a chuckle as he closed his hands round her throat, letting her take his full weight as he released her, knowing she could take it. Finally finding her lips in what would have been a bruising kiss, revelling in the knowledge that he wouldn't need to come up for air. And it was that revelation that had him pull back several seconds later, a sharp pain twisting in his gut, and he pushed up off the bed, turning away from her.

Not seeing as she followed suit, he felt her arms slip around his middle, face pressed between his shoulder blades, "Dean," she spoke softly, motherly, and he closed his eyes, "You don't have to worry anymore. None of that matters anymore. You want to feel good don't you?" and he felt himself nodding, "All you have to do is let go, let Darla take care of you," and she stood before him now, hand caressing his cheek, and he opened his eyes, "Can you do that for me?"

o_O~One Month Later~O_o

**Edgewater, Colorado**

"Here kitty, kitty," he said with a chuckle, mocking ringing true in his voice, "Come on, don't be that way, I won't bite...much," leaning back a little, catching the hitch in her breath, he bit his lower lip in anticipation, sliding his thumb along it. He loved a good chase. Walking right past her hiding place, he let her have a brief reprieve, to allow the hope to expand in her chest before he snatched her up by the back of her shirt, holding her off of the ground, "There you are."

And she shrieked, squirming in his grasp, "Please..." she said through a sob, barely managing to restrain it, and he tilted his head to the side in consideration, unable to keep the smirk from his face.

"Please what, Princess?" the beam at the breakfast bar snapping as her back slammed into it, and she crumpled to the floor. Her breathing laboured, head lolling from side to side as she tried to push up into a sitting position. Her hands giving out beneath her as the room swam around her head, "Do share with the rest of the class," and he grabbed her by the hair, hauling her to her feet.

"Let me go, my parents..."

"Are dead."

"No!"

"Man you should see the look on your face, it's-"

"Priceless," Darla finished for him, and Dean immediately forgot the girl, and he dropped her, letting her slump back down to the floor. He pulled Darla in tight, rocking his hips forward to meet hers, hands resting at the small of her back. Sucking her bottom lip into his mouth, and tugging hard before dropping to kiss along her collar bone, "Well someone's happy to see me," her hand closing round the girl's forearm as she tried to make a break for it, "Uh, uh, uh, not so fast," and she tutted her, "Is that how you treat guests in your home? We only just arrived and you're thinking of heading off?" she shook her head, turning her attention back to Dean, "Kids today, they have no manners."

He grinned, "Maybe someone ought to teach her a lesson."

"Couldn't have said it better myself."

The girl whimpered.

**Cicero, Indiana**

The air crackled, the light sparking before shorting out. And there he was. How he managed to get there he didn't know, and right then it wasn't his main concern. Eyes scanning back and forth as he took in the scene before him, pushing him forward. Knuckles rapping against the door before he even realised he was moving, "Where's Dean?" he said urgently, not even giving Lisa a chance to open the door all the way. He brushed past her walking into the hallway, doing a complete 360, before turning back to her, her eyes just wide as his.

"Sam? What-...How-...What are you doing here?"

"Where's Dean?" he knew he wasn't being fair but he needed to know his brother was ok.

And Lisa sighed, the weight of it doing nothing to help his nerves that were clawing at his stomach like a bag of angry kittens. Fear and anger flickering behind her eyes for a moment before they softened like she knew that she wasn't likely to get anything out of him that he didn't want to share, and so she conceded, "Sam he left here months ago."

"Where'd he go?"


	6. Here's Sammy

Lisa hadn't been able to tell him much, and on the _'where the hell is Dean?'_ front his guess was as good as hers. Though if he was honest? His guess was probably a lot better, even if he didn't have hellish much to go on. So after a cup of coffee he'd left. But not before Lisa had made him take the eighty dollars from her purse, and offered up her truck. But he couldn't take it. He wouldn't be back. And maybe that was why she had hugged him._Find him_the words breathed against his skin, her voice weighted with sorrow, but it was clear that she knew she wouldn't get him back. She just wanted him to be found. That Sam could promise.

Nothing else mattered.

If only finding him were as easy as wanting it.

He flexed his fingers on the wheel, the tension returning as soon as they wrapped back round. He'd hit all the bars between Cicero and the state line and there were few his brother hadn't frequented. Even at those he'd only been once, none could forget the _beautiful, broken man_ as one barmaid had described him, others used _haunted._But each left him more desperate to find his brother. Rage and something else he couldn't quite put a finger on, stirring in his belly at the thought of Dean doing something stupid. Sam knew it wasn't beyond him. He just hoped he could find him before it was too late, though it wasn't the only thing occupying his mind.

In his search for Dean he'd picked up a more solid trail which he was sure had been left by vampires. As much as he tried to deny it, hunting isn't something he could ever just walk away from. It's in his blood. And now more than ever he knows the importance of it. That this time it's something he can't just ignore. All the signs were there. Only the bloodsuckers behind this seemed to prefer something a little more intimate, a little more _high end_than a quickie in the alley behind the bar. It had taken a week and a half for him to put it all together. Their seemed to be no pattern at first, but upon closer examination of some of the vics Sam could make out two distinct sets of fang marks. The impressions every bit as unique as a human's would be, though he couldn't exactly run them through dental records.

They were heading west. Or it seemed that way, he could only hope that they didn't double back. So far they had managed to stay at least four steps ahead of him. But Sam was pretty sure he had a good lead this time. They seemed to favour couples. And more specifically: newlyweds. There was a couple in Cascade, Idaho who had just returned from their honeymoon, which as it turned out was only a couple of states over at some cabin resort. Nothing swanky. But they were newlyweds, and their finances weren't exactly as sound as they could have been. Of course none of that matters when you are in love, right?

Sam shook his head, putting his foot down. He is going out on a limb here, in theory they could be anywhere. Hell he's pretty sure they're not as meticulous as he is about who they pick for dinner. But something is drawing him there. He can feel it in his gut. He just has to get there in time.

**Cascade, Idaho**

"What a beautiful painting," said with about a quart of wonderment, just enough to make it believable as she turned taking Dean's hand, which he slipped round her waist, "Oh honey don't you think we should get one just like it. Neil you have to tell us where you got it." She smiled. She wouldn't put that thing on her refrigerator. Well if she owned one. They turned back to the other couple just in time to see Diana blush, "You did this?" Dean asked without a beat, he was a natural.

"Diana's our little artist," which Neil said with genuine admiration as he tugged her in to his side mirroring Dean and Darla's pose. How quaint.

"And it shows," Neil and Diana missing the darker ring to her tone, "How about that wine?"

Darla froze feeling Dean stiffen beside her as the Clarks vanished into the kitchen, and she turned to him, her movements almost undetectable, her eyes tracking him as he moved towards the door, "What is it?"

"Thought I heard something."

* * *

><p>With a click the door opened out into the room as if in slow motion, an eerie creak following the familiar arc as Sam took a step forward into the hallway. Gun cocked, the rounds were a little something special he'd 'cooked up', not forgetting that all special ingredient. Dead man's blood. Eyes flitting over the room, he zones in on the broken wine glass, crushed down into the red now worn on the cream carpet.<p>

* * *

><p>Neil's body hit the bedroom floor with a dull thunk, the blow muffled by the carpet. Diana screamed into her gag, her shoulders quaking with every sob, eyes wide and pleading, hands tied to the bed post.<p>

* * *

><p>His eyes swept back to the stairs, it was quiet. Too quiet. Sam lurches forwards, breaking into a run, nearly taking the stairs three at a time, ploughing through the door with his shoulder, "Damnit!"<p>

He's too late. His fist slammed into the wall. Frustration expended only for the fact that the vampires got away. The bodies stir nothing in him, he's seen his fair share, and they are still too fresh to irritate the other senses.


	7. Inside Your Head

He stares down at his steady, bloody hands. It makes him feel sick. He can feel his reflection in the periphery. Silent, judging, as if an entity unto itself. If there was one vampire myth Dean wished were true, it was the whole "no reflection" deal. He can't stomach it. At least not when she wasn't around. Things would be so much simpler if he didn't have to see...

It wasn't something he'd ever readily admit, but there is a part of him that had always envied civilians their ability to take comfort in their flimsy belief that the darkness wasn't something that could touch them, it was something that happened to other people. Not them. There was nothing lurking in the dark. All you had to do was flip on a light, forget the shadows it cast. They didn't want to know what they couldn't explain. Dean didn't have that luxury. It was getting harder to remember he ever had.

He knew what lay beneath and he also knew exactly how much pressure it took to crush the larynx with his bare hands.

And it's almost funny how he can commit such atrocities without the tiniest iota of remorse. Not in the moment. In the moment he revels in the freedom of it. The beast in full possession of his soul. When he was with her he didn't have to feel, didn't have to think, just do, but when he's left on his own?

The faintest ghost of laugh, barely a huff, leaves him. It is a little funny he keeps thinking about it. His soul. That was another thing. He wasn't exactly one hundred percent whether it had truly gone. Doubt refracting from the mirror face even in the dimmest of light.

He can't stop licking his lips, stained red, like some sort of sadistic clown make-up, it's the first time he's ever felt the fear of clowns was legit. He can still feel the sticky substance on them, still taste it, really testing his gag reflex. His lip curls in disgust as he meets the scrutiny of his reflection full on. The thing that disturbs most is the taste, no longer like copper, but rich, sweet on its way down, like her dulcet tones, but in moments like these, all he tastes is bitterness.

oOo

Darla smirks as she reaches the bottom of the stairs, catching a glimpse of Dean's back as she gives him one last look over her shoulder. He was as co-dependent in death as he had been in life, and while others may have simply smothered him in reassurance, Darla knew the importance of leaving him to his own devices every once in a while. Making him crave her return and the _release_that only she could provide.

She's no fool. She knows he's not fully on board yet. Can see it the way he seeks her gaze, her approval after a kill. How his fingers linger on every touch, silently pleading for her to stay, for he would never beg aloud. Not for her. What he was yet to understand was that he didn't have to. She would offer her body freely. All he had to do was take. She was confident that he would learn in time.

Darla moves to the window, drawing back the curtain, when she hears something that was distinctly that of a car door being shut with deliberate care by some who doesn't want to be heard. By someone who knows what they are. The same someone who is now approaching the house. She stays at the window a while before going to the dining room to retrieve her favourite knife. A little thrill goes through her as she is slammed up against the wall, an amused sort of chuckle leaving her as warm hands close round her throat, squeezing hard.

"Where is he?" the demand from the brute of the man pinning her in place, but her smirk never wavers, the familial scent filtering through her senses tells her everything she needs to know, the depth of their bond more suffocating than the hands denying her the air she doesn't need. Her gaze snaps to Dean's who she can see over her _captor's_shoulder, and she knows it's over. Even though she can see the look in his eyes it still manages to take her by surprise when he prises what she understands to be his brother off of her, throwing him across the room.

Darla tilts her head to the side, watching the tension roll across his shoulders and she takes a step forwards, their eyes meeting for the very last time as he turns, no exchange needed. She leaves.

oOo

Sam lets his head thunk down against the steering wheel. It's been a whole week since his last solid lead. Calling Bobby seems to be the most reasonable solution he can come up with. He's even punched halfway through the number at least a half dozen times already by now. But he can't bring himself to complete it. As far as Bobby is concerned Sam is dead, and the longer it takes him to find his brother the more and more likely it becomes that what Sam might be looking for is a corpse.

The ripple of revulsion shakes him to his core. Dean can't be dead. He won't believe it. He can't. And he can't believe that he would be brought back for any purpose if it didn't include finding his brother alive. And that's when he sees the Impala. Everything slowing down into that moment as his head follows the black beauty. It takes his brain a couple more seconds to catch up with his eyes, and he almost convinces himself that it was just a trick of the light, except somewhere he just knows that it's not true.

His heartbeat thuds loudly in his ears. It's going the other way, and there are too many cars ahead of and behind him. Every second of hesitation costing him another moments distance.

He speeds up a little and then yanks the handbrake the car sliding round on an arc, the tires screeching in protest, before gunning it. He's not going to let anything else slip through his fingers.

oOo

Sam keeps one hand on his gun as he makes his way across what may have once passed as a garden, Impala or no, something doesn't feel right. But he can't help but put his hand to the hood as he passes her. A tingle creeps along his spine as he gets that eerie feeling of being watched. He pushes on, back to the wall as he reaches the door, arm extending slowly, fingers steady as they grasp the door handle, though he gulps as the door clicks open.

He isn't really even fully conscious of his next movements until he feels the flutter of flesh beneath his hands. His stomach clenches as the honey-rich laughter reverberates through his hands, the only word he feels can truly describe it, is evil and he tightens his grip.

After that the next thing he remembers is pain, before he has the vaguest recollection of being flung across the room. His hand automatically goes to his head, wondering if he'll get a concussion. Sam pushes himself up into a sitting position, grunting as the floor seems to move with him. He closes his eyes to try and regain some sort of equilibrium before getting up to his feet, staggering a few steps before his eyes refocus. Eyes clapping onto green, he froze.

"Dean?"


End file.
